Since accepting the Nobel Prize in Literature on December 10, the controversial Mo Yan has turned down every formal interview request from every publication in the world. But he finally broke his silence last week, granting a sit-down with Germany’s Der Spiegel, one of Europe’s largest news weeklies. The article was published in this week’s (February 25) issue, roughly coinciding with the German debut of Mo’s novel Frog. The author promised only a “very short” interview but ended up talking for two hours, according to Spiegel, and the result probably could not have been better for the venerable magazine.

Mo Yan called his writing style “un-Chinese,” though said his novels contain “hope, dignity and power.” He said that he “realized that the Cultural Revolution was the mistake of individual leaders. It had less to do with the party itself,” which could have been the sound bite of the interview if he hadn’t proceeded to rebuke Liao Yiwu’s criticism of him, then turn his focus on Ai Weiwei.

“Another one of your critics is Ai Weiwei, an artist particularly well-known in Germany,” the Spiegel interviewer says, and one can almost picture Mo snapping:

“What does he have to say about me?”

(We don’t know that he actually snapped; the published account gives no stage directions.)

And then:

SPIEGEL: He too accuses you of being to close to the state. He says you are detached from reality and cannot represent current China.

Mo: Aren’t many artists in mainland China state artists? What about those who are professors at the universities? What about those who write for state newspapers? And then, which intellectual can claim to represent China? I certainly do not claim that. Can Ai Weiwei? Those who can really represent China are digging dirt and paving roads with their bare hands.

Other highlights follow. Let’s start with this excerpt, out of which Der Spiegel pulled three words — “I am guilty” — for its headline:

SPIEGEL: Unspeakable things happen in many of your novels. In “The Garlic Ballads,” for example, a pregnant woman, already in labor, hangs herself. Still, “Frog” seems to be your sternest book. Is that why it took so long to write?

Mo: I carried the idea for this book with me for a long time but then wrote it relatively quickly. You are right, I felt heavy when I penned the novel. I see it as a work of self-criticism.

SPIEGEL: In what sense? You carry no personal responsibility for the violence and the forced abortions described in your book.

Mo: China has gone through such tremendous change over the past decades that most of us consider ourselves victims. Few people ask themselves, though: ‘Have I also hurt others?’ “Frog” deals with this question, with this possibility. I, for example, may have been only 11 years old in my elementary school days, but I joined the red guards and took part in the public criticism of my teacher. I was jealous of the achievements, the talents of other people, of their luck. Later, I even asked my wife to have an abortion for the sake of my own future. I am guilty.

Mo talks briefly about his writing…

SPIEGEL: Your books paint a bleak picture of modern China. There seems to be no progress. Neither your figures, nor society, nor the country as such seems to be heading anywhere.

Mo: I may be rather un-Chinese in this respect. Most Chinese stories and dramas have a happy ending. Most of my novels end tragically. But there is still hope, dignity and power.

…before dropping this semi-bombshell about the Cultural Revolution:

SPIEGEL: How do you yourself think about this? After all, you were forced to interrupt your education during the Cultural Revolution. And yet, you are still a member of the party.

Mo: The Communist Party of China has well over 80 million members, and I am one of them. I joined the party in 1979 when I was in the army. I realized that the Cultural Revolution was the mistake of individual leaders. It had less to do with the party itself.

The Cultural Revolution is referenced again as he addresses the media pressure that surrounded his Nobel win in the context of freedom of speech and Nobel Peace Prize recipient Liu Xiaobo:

SPIEGEL: But there are people in this country who are harassed, even arrested for what they write. Do you not feel an obligation to use your award, fame and reputation to speak out on behalf of these colleagues of yours?

Mo: I openly expressed the hope that Liu Xiaobo should regain his freedom as soon as possible. But again, I was immediately criticized and forced to speak out again and again on the same issue.

SPIEGEL: Liu received the Nobel Peace Prize in 2010. And indeed, repeated statements of support would make a greater impression than a single comment.

Mo: I am reminded of the rituals of repetition in the Cultural Revolution. If I decide to speak, then nobody will stop me. If I decide not to speak, then not even a knife at my neck will make me speak.

He also turned his attention to Chinese exile Liao Yiwu, one of his most vocal critics. (Liao organized a naked-run protest outside the Nobel Banquet Hall in Stockholm the night that Mo received his prize.)

SPIEGEL: When Chinese writer Liao Yiwu was awarded with the Peace Prize of the German Book Trade last year, he criticized you in SPIEGEL as a “state writer” and said you don’t keep enough distance to the government.

Mo: I have read his statement and I have read the speech he gave at the award ceremony. In the speech, he called for the split of the Chinese state. I can absolutely not agree to this position. I think that the people of Sichuan (the province where Liao is from) would not agree to cut their province out of China. I am sure Liao’s parents could never agree to this position. And I can not even imagine that he himself can, in the depth of his heart, agree to what he said there. I know he envies me for this award and I understand this. But his criticism is unjustified.

Mo clarifies that by “criticism” he’s referring to Liao’s accusation that Mo praised Bo Xilai in a poem.

Mo: … in a poem. Actually, the opposite is true. I was sarcastic, I wrote a satire. Let me jot it down again for you.

(Mo Yan takes a notebook and writes)

Sing-red-strike-black roars mightily,
The nation turns its head to Chongqing.
While a white spider weaves a real net that catches bugs,
A black horse with loose bowel movement is not an angry youth.
As a writer one should not be afraid of either a left or right party,
As an official one should hold dear one’s good name before and after his death.
A gentleman, a bedrock in turbulent waters, that you are,
The splendid cliffs shine on Jialing River like fire.

And he addresses the infamous book, which features his writing, that celebrates Mao Zedong’s 1942 Yan’an speech:

Mo: Honestly, it was a commercial project. The editor of a publishing house, an old friend of mine, came up with the idea. He had convinced around 100 writers before and when we attended a conference together, he walked around with a book and a pen and asked me, too, to hand-copy a paragraph of Mao’s speech. I asked “What should I write?” He said: “I chose this paragraph for you.” I was vain enough to take the opportunity to show off with my calligraphy.

There’s more over at Der Spiegel’s website. Go give the interview a read.

Nobel Laureate Mo Yan: ‘I Am Guilty’ (Der Spiegel)

I’ll leave the parsing to others, but here’s the body of Mo Yan’s meticulously arranged speech at the Nobel Prize Award Ceremony last night:

I am well aware that there are many writers in the world who would be more worthy Laureates than I. I am convinced that if they only continue to write, if they only believe that literature is the ornament of humanity and a God-given right, “She will give you a garland to grace your head and present you with a glorious crown.” (Proverbs 4:9)

I am also well aware that literature only has a minimal influence on political disputes or economic crises in the world, but its significance to human beings is ancient. When literature exists, perhaps we do not notice how important it is, but when it does not exist, our lives become coarsened and brutal. For this reason, I am proud of my profession, but also aware of its importance

I want to take this opportunity to express my admiration for the members of the Swedish Academy, who stick firmly to their own convictions. I am confident that you will not let yourselves be affected by anything other than literature.

“Many writers in the world”! Bible quote! Literature as a God-given right!

I am confident that you will not let yourselves be affected by anything other than literature!

What does it all mean? Which parts were written by Mo, and which by the Gaomi, Shandong province government? Which were penned by the inspired graces of good angels, which were muttered with the hot breath of the devil? Which represent fireplaces, safety, comfort in an iron home, which are forest conflagrations choking oxygen out of the very air we breathe? Which are fine, which are loathsome? Which are good, which are bad? Which is Mo, whence does Yan?

Go read these stories about him. Check out his considerably longer lecture. Um, read the Xinhua write-up? Then chatter away.

POSTSCRIPT: Interesting or no? Here’s how Per Wästberg, Swedish Academy member and chairman of the Nobel Committee, began his introduction of Mo:

Mo Yan is a poet who tears down stereotypical propaganda posters, elevating the individual from an anonymous human mass. Using ridicule and sarcasm Mo Yan attacks history and its falsifications as well as deprivation and political hypocrisy. Playfully and with ill-disguised delight, he reveals the murkiest aspects of human existence, almost inadvertently finding images of strong symbolic weight.

Mo Yan gave his traditional Nobel lecture, “Storytellers,” about 10 hours ago at the Royal Swedish Academy in Stockholm. He was introduced by Kjell Espmark, member of the Nobel literature committee.

Mo’s 32-minute talk has already been translated by the preeminent Howard Goldblatt, here, which you should take a minute to read before letting the news media inundate the conversation with all their cherry-picked selections that fit their narrative.

Some highlights, presented chronologically (cherry-picked by yours truly, so yeah, you should probably just skip this and go read the whole thing):

Mo starts — fittingly and endearingly — by talking about his mother, with a truly contemporary story about how his family had to dig up her grave due to a proposed rail line. The story is imbued with all the details you’d expect from a novelist, leading into memories of how she treated him, her youngest son: “Distinguished members of the Swedish Academy, Ladies and Gentlemen: // Through the mediums of television and the Internet, I imagine that everyone here has at least a nodding acquaintance with far-off Northeast Gaomi Township. You may have seen my ninety-year-old father, as well as my brothers, my sister, my wife and my daughter, even my granddaughter, now a year and four months old. But the person who is most on my mind at this moment, my mother, is someone you will never see. Many people have shared in the honor of winning this prize, everyone but her.”

And this: “I was born ugly. Villagers often laughed in my face, and school bullies sometimes beat me up because of it. I’d run home crying, where my mother would say, ‘You’re not ugly, Son. You’ve got a nose and two eyes, and there’s nothing wrong with your arms and legs, so how could you be ugly? If you have a good heart and always do the right thing, what is considered ugly becomes beautiful.’ Later on, when I moved to the city, there were educated people who laughed at me behind my back, some even to my face; but when I recalled what Mother had said, I just calmly offered my apologies.”

Also, she was illiterate. “My illiterate mother held people who could read in high regard.”

It all leads to the story of how he began as a writer, “It did not take long to find retelling someone else’s stories unsatisfying, so I began embellishing my narration. I’d say things I knew would please Mother, even changed the ending once in a while. And she wasn’t the only member of my audience, which later included my older sisters, my aunts, even my maternal grandmother.”

Comparisons to Gabriel Garcia Marquez are apt. “I must say that in the course of creating my literary domain, Northeast Gaomi Township, I was greatly inspired by the American novelist William Faulkner and the Columbian Gabriel García Márquez. I had not read either of them extensively, but was encouraged by the bold, unrestrained way they created new territory in writing, and learned from them that a writer must have a place that belongs to him alone.”

The only four mentions of the word “politics” occur over the span of two paragraphs: “My greatest challenges come with writing novels that deal with social realities, such as The Garlic Ballads, not because I’m afraid of being openly critical of the darker aspects of society, but because heated emotions and anger allow politics to suppress literature and transform a novel into reportage of a social event. As a member of society, a novelist is entitled to his own stance and viewpoint; but when he is writing he must take a humanistic stance, and write accordingly. Only then can literature not just originate in events, but transcend them, not just show concern for politics but be greater than politics. // Possibly because I’ve lived so much of my life in difficult circumstances, I think I have a more profound understanding of life. I know what real courage is, and I understand true compassion. I know that nebulous terrain exists in the hearts and minds of every person, terrain that cannot be adequately characterized in simple terms of right and wrong or good and bad, and this vast territory is where a writer gives free rein to his talent. So long as the work correctly and vividly describes this nebulous, massively contradictory terrain, it will inevitably transcend politics and be endowed with literary excellence.”

Addressing controversy surrounding his selection, and what will inevitably be the most oft-quoted part of his speech: “The announcement of my Nobel Prize has led to controversy. At first I thought I was the target of the disputes, but over time I’ve come to realize that the real target was a person who had nothing to do with me. Like someone watching a play in a theater, I observed the performances around me. I saw the winner of the prize both garlanded with flowers and besieged by stone-throwers and mudslingers. I was afraid he would succumb to the assault, but he emerged from the garlands of flowers and the stones, a smile on his face; he wiped away mud and grime, stood calmly off to the side, and said to the crowd: // For a writer, the best way to speak is by writing. You will find everything I need to say in my works. Speech is carried off by the wind; the written word can never be obliterated. I would like you to find the patience to read my books. I cannot force you to do that, and even if you do, I do not expect your opinion of me to change. No writer has yet appeared, anywhere in the world, who is liked by all his readers; that is especially true during times like these.”

Forget about everything else for one second — if you’re a fan of stories, just scroll down to the very end and read the three stories that finish the speech.

And finally, last words: “I am a storyteller. // Telling stories earned me the Nobel Prize for Literature. // Many interesting things have happened to me in the wake of winning the prize, and they have convinced me that truth and justice are alive and well. // So I will continue telling my stories in the days to come. // Thank you all.”

p.s. Mo wore a Mao suit. Surely he’ll choose something different for the actual ceremony, then?

The Norwegian government is only marginally responsible for the Nobel Peace Prize — its parliament appoints the five-person selection committee — but you wouldn’t know it judging by China’s durian-sized grudge, with spikes of everlasting disdain.

Quick recap: in 2010, while serving his fourth prison term, Liu Xiaobo was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize despite protestations and threats from the Chinese government. Liu’s not the best winner, but not the worst, either. Yet China’s juvenile response — the country is wont to hopelessly bungle stuff like this — did more to prove the Nobel Committee right than any activist could have hoped. Visas to Norwegians were denied, and a shipment of Norwegian salmon was forced to sit in customs until the food was spoiled.

Two years later — even after Mo Yan’s Nobel win (we’re just hours away from his live talk) — it’s clear that China is still pouting. Take a look at this list of 45 countries whose citizens are eligible for 72-hour visa-free stays in Beijing (starting January 1):

– Austria;
– Belgium;
– the Czech Republic;
– Denmark;
– Estonia;
– Finland;
– France;
– Germany;
– Greece;
– Hungary;
– Iceland;
– Italy;
– Latvia;
– the Republic of Lithuania;
– Luxembourg;
– the Republic of Malta;
– the Netherlands;
– Poland;
– Portugal;
– the Republic of Slovakia;
– the Republic of Slovenia;
– Spain;
– Sweden;
– Swiss;
– Russia;
– the United Kingdom of Britain;
– the Republic of Ireland;
– Cyprus;
– Bulgaria;
– Romania;
– Ukraine;
– the United States of America;
– Canada;
– Brazil;
– Mexico
– Argentina;
– Chile;
– Australia;
– New Zealand;
– the Republic of Korea;
– Japan;
– Singapore;
– Brunei;
– the United Arab Emirates;
– Qatar.

Finland is there. Sweden is there. Norway? Fuck Norway.

Is this silly? Yes. Made more so by the fact that the Nobel Committee does a fine enough job of discrediting itself without the help of others. We’ve said this dozens of times, but let’s go again: the Chinese government is terribly bad at PR. It has an image problem, as in it often sends the world a picture of its butt cheeks pressed against a car window as its official response to serious issues. Stop doing that, China. You’re not 12. Come to think of it, you’re not a frat boy in college, either. Act like a grownup, and people will take you seriously. At the very least, maybe Norway will stop vetoing your attempts to get a seat on the Arctic Council.

On Tuesday, 134 Nobel laureates wrote to Xi Jinping asking him to release 2010 Nobel Peace Prize laureate Liu Xiaobo, currently serving an 11-year sentence for subversion (etc.) after he coauthored “Charter 08,” a manifesto calling for greater freedoms in China. His wife is also currently under house arrest.

The decision is probably not Xi Jinping’s alone to make, but the point of the letter — with Mo Yan set to address the Nobel committee this week — was to garner a response. And sure enough, China has answered. Here’s Chinese Foreign Ministry spokesperson Hong Lei in front of reporters yesterday, via Voice of America:

“China is a law-abiding country. Liu Xiaobo was lawfully sentenced to a fixed-term imprisonment by the judicial organ because he committed an offense against Chinese law,” he said. “The Chinese government opposes outsiders handling matters in any way that would interfere in its judicial sovereignty and internal matters.”

When asked what specific law Liu violated, Hong refused to comment.

Let us paraphrase:

“China is a [insert macro]. Liu Xiaobo was [insert macro] to a [insert macro] by the [insert macro] because [insert macro] against [insert macro]. The Chinese government [insert macro] [insert macro] in any way that [insert macro] and [insert macro].”

The Microsoft Word office assistant Clippy could literally do Hong Lei’s job just as well.

“Liu Xiaobo will not be released from prison even if a thousand Nobel laureates swoop out of the sky riding screaming harpies like stone rain.”

That would have been a good quote. The CCP should hire me as a speechwriter.

(Photo via AFP, which also reported on this.)

The blitz is on. Eighteen hours after Mo Yan’s historic win of the Nobel Prize in Literature, a shedload of articles have appeared analyzing, praising, criticizing, and explaining what it all means to China, the Nobel Committee, literature, politics, activism, free speech, publishing, Ai Weiwei, and the world.

If you’re looking for a straight write-up, start with the New York Times, or this Reuters piece that features an interview with Mo Yan translator Howard Goldblatt: “He wants to continue to write, and to continue to write the kinds of things he needs and wants to write he has to live within certain parameters.” You can then move on to The New Yorker’s Evan Osnos’s piece on the “politically tolerable Nobel laureate.” Christian-Science Monitor calls Mo “practiced in the art of challenging the status quo without offending those who uphold it.” Salon’s Laura Miller says the choice to award Mo fits the Nobel Committee’s unique position to “call the attention of the wider world to the best living writers of cultures prone to neglect outside their own national borders.” O never give the heart outright, eh Global Times? Simon Elegant’s short profile of Mo for Time in 2010 is worth a reread. Ai Weiwei: U mad, bro? Here’s Mo’s short story “Frogs,” via Granta. And finally, Mo was interviewed yesterday, as written up by Xinhua.

(I’ve definitely missed some great stories; please leave links to ones you liked in the comments section, though note that two or more links and your comment swings by moderation first.)

If all that’s not enough, here are reactions from the Twittersphere:

Kick-ass Wang Shu won the best fucking award ever yesterday, picked by a bunch of nearly-as-awesome dudes for building kick-ass shit and being generally kick-ass-ish. Step aside, Frank Gehry. Step aside, Tadao Ando. Step aside, Renzo Piano, if that is your real name. And what the heck does Eduardo Souto de Moura even mean? The kick-ass club limits its member names to two words or fewer. Sorry, Ed. Chairman Wang now has the dais.

“Step aside, Pei. I M Awesome is your new overlord.”

So slick I can lick it. (Already done.) Photo by Lü Hengzhong

We are all bitches under the dome of the world. Photo by Lu Wenyu

It's not phallic because of the fog. Photo by Lu Wenyu

Pritzker Prize website.